


What I Mean To Say -

by Thimblerig



Series: The Lion and the Serpent [46]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Milady's complete lack of tender feelings, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: Milady has a headache, Kitty has a cold, Aramis has a Small Child, and Flavia has the whole grubby lot of them.





	What I Mean To Say -

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AellaIrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AellaIrene/gifts).



> Prompt Fic for AellaIrene: "Prompts...Milady, Wilhelmina the Plot Moppet, and Queen Flavia of Ruritania?"

“I go where I want,” she said sourly, twitching her striped cloak more closely around her.

“Ahaha. What my partner _means_ to say is that we got lost in the woods and crossing your borders was an _entirely unintentional_ mishap. We are benighted travellers, merely.”

She spared a glance out the tall, narrow windows, at the mountains, still snow-hatted, painted fire-tipped by the sunset, colouring down to lapis lazuli and indigo as the light dropped away. It was a pretty view. It was a pretty rug she stood on. She sincerely hoped she was bleeding on it.

Draggle-haired and with an aching head (not acquired from the po-faced guardsmen currently surrounding them, she had to admit that) she narrowed her eyes at Queen Flavia of Ruritania, a woman quietly, graciously dressed. The only crown she wore tonight, in the peace of a small drawing room, was her own red hair braided high around her head. It shone red-golden in the warm glow of the fire in the great hearth, quietly brilliant against the indigo of her dress. Royalty suited her.

She smiled toothily at the woman, who regarded her gravely, serenely. She doubted Flavia would ever admit _aloud_ why they were banned from Ruritania’s borders, entertaining though the story might be -

“There are of course many colourful folk-tales in this lovely kingdom,” Aramis said hurriedly, “and any woman _who’d recently had a knock on the head_ might find herself confusing one or two of them. Or three. I particularly liked the one about the giants -”

 _“That’s_ why I have a headache!” she volunteered, enlightened, over the ringing in her ears. Aramis hissed air between his teeth and looked at her, troubled. His hand lifted, then dropped down to his baggily pantalooned legs. He scratched his thumb under the eyepatch.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly to the Queen, “novel and picturesque as our methods might have been we’ve done naught but good by you. Three days of sanctuary is all we ask, a quiet chamber and simple refreshments, no servants necessary -”

“I’ll trade you the contraband for a bed for the night,” she interrupted.

Queen Flavia said, troubled herself, “I am not a receiver of stolen goods.”

“What kind of monarch are you then?” she asked, and, “Did I say that out loud?”

Flavia’s elderly chamberlain flushed dark red and began to speak, but a lift of the Queen’s forefinger quelled him. Aramis, beside her, opened his mouth, shut it. Kitty the Maid, snivelling behind her, continued snivelling.

“What?” she asked him. “It’s slowing us down.”

“Madame -” he broke off.

She flipped open her cloak to reveal tattered, blood-stained skirts and the small child clinging to them. Her hand smoothed the girl’s yellow hair. (Rough-cut and short, it never would lie flat anymore.) “The heiress Wilhemina von Argle-Bargle,” she announced.

“Duchess Wilhemina Petrova Athanasia von Thuringia,” Aramis corrected softly, eyebrows woeful.

“Ah,” said Flavia softly.

“Oh, ah,” she replied.

 _“That’s_ why your party was running along Ruritania’s border.”

“I don’t _run,”_ she corrected, uncomfortably aware that her voice was coming out too loud. “I tactically manoeuvre. And this is tactical.”

The Queen rose from her high-backed chair and paced forward, the train of her skirts hissing behind her. She knelt in front of the child and said, simply, “Hello, little cousin. Have you been running long? Are your feet sore?” Wilhemina remained silent.

“There are people who -” Aramis stopped and rephrased - “who would rather she not inherit the Duchy. It’s, ah, been a colourful few weeks. Not that we regret a day of it,” he said loyally, glancing at the girl who was trying to merge herself into his partner’s leg, “but guardianship is not without its… complications.”

“People are trying to assassinate _me,”_ she said, dragging back a tangled bit of hair, “how ineffably tedious. Don’t look so tragic,” she ordered Aramis. “Whatever were we going to do with her in the long run? After she’d mastered fingersmithing, lessons in the garrotte?” His mouth still drooped; his insides were like a honey-cake, that one. He blushed. “Did I say that out loud?”

Flavia switched to rapid German, and Wilhemina responded, voluble in her native tongue.

The Queen looked up at them, serene, regal. “You may stay one week,” she said, “while Wilhemina settles in.” She glanced down at the child whose jaw poked out stubbornly. Grudgingly, she added, “And you may visit on occasion, provided I have your word of honour that you will not engage in… skulduggery. Inside my borders.”

“Deal,” she said promptly, and yawned. “We’ll make the handover in the morning. Aramis needs to say goodbye and the maid will want to comb hair and pinch cheeks and such-like. If we’re doing this we’ll do it proper - put some pageantry in it.” The child turned suddenly, wrapping both arms around her and clinging like a little monkey. Reluctantly, she set her hand to the girl’s tiny shoulder-blades and let it rest there.

Queen Flavia rose and stared at her eye-to-eye. “Of course,” she said generously. “In the morning.” She beckoned and the chamberlain, craggy eyebrows dubious, set about finding a quiet suite of rooms.

Kitty muttered something impenetrable.

“I said it,” she told Aramis, leaning heavily on his sturdy shoulder as they limped in a wretched huddle through the halls. “I told her I go where I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this - it was a much-needed laugh. Thanks so much for the prompt.


End file.
